


Turning Point #2.5

by LunaDeSangre



Series: The Way You Fall Asleep [5]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Light Dom/Sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: Kelly has, perhaps, been blind up until now.





	Turning Point #2.5

The ride back from the House is as silent as the ride _to_ it had been, but with none of the unquenchably joyful, giggling rush and sexually-electrifying atmosphere that had permeated between them the day before. It's not quite the calmer, cheerful high they'd achieved pressed tightly together in the showers either, nor the low, relieved tension of being both back safe and sound after the call that nearly interrupted them in there. Instead, Matt keeps his gaze firmly outside the passenger's window, lightly shifting in his seat at odds intervals and unnaturally rigid the rest of the time, and Kelly grips the wheel too tight, willing himself to think of absolutely _nothing_ but the road and the traffic, taking ridiculously deep breaths, and hyperaware of every minute twitch of the man next to him _anyway_.

"D'you want breakfast?" Matt asks as soon as they're through the door, dumping bags, coats, keys and phones in the entryway. "I can make pancakes or something." His tone is the carefully even one that says he's nervous and trying like hell to hide it, and he stands there wide-eyed and a bit fidgety as Kelly just stares at him for a few seconds, struck speechless by the fact that yes, they're really doing this, even in the soft morning light, completely free of alcohol or adrenaline. And god, what this soft morning light is doing to Matt's hair and perfectly-sculpted face is _mesmerizing_.

"Not yet," Kelly finally answers, gently, "come here." And Matt does, immediately stepping right up to him, into his arms, with what looks like relief, sliding his hands around Kelly's ribs, up his back to curl over his shoulders as Kelly squishes him close. He rests his forehead against the side of Kelly's neck and Kelly feels the tickle of eyelashes on his skin, imagines him closing his eyes, the peaceful expression on his (beautiful, so beautiful) face to match that long, warm, comforted and comfort _ing_ sigh.

Kelly hugs him, molding them together even more, like they were both made for this, for each other, and it hits him that if he believed in such things—if he _let_ himself believe in such things, then he _would_ definitely think that they _have_ been made for each other.

It hits him that he loves this guy—loves him just like he breathes, as easily and as thoughtlessly, as naturally. It hits him that he always has, there in the back of his mind, under all the brotherly friendliness, the manly bullshit and bravado, even under the pain and rage and loss from what now seems so long ago.

It hits him that perhaps, he's never actually been in love with anybody else in his entire life, because no other person he's ever met, not _one_ , has ever managed to make him feel so _complete_ , so content and so at peace with everything, with nothing more than a _hug_. Loved, yes. Reassured, yes. Protective, definitely. But like everything is really, truly gonna be all right? Up until five minutes ago, Kelly would have thought it was impossible. But here's Matt—and Kelly is suddenly full of _nothing_ but love. Love for this man—this man who's so sweet and beautiful and smart and funny and strong, who's never let him down, even when he had every right to, who's never let him get too far away, but without trying to force him closer either, who's always done _exactly_ what Kelly needed or wanted him to do, and all of it without any instructions. (And abruptly, he's full of love for this whole universe too, because no matter how unjust and cruel it's been, how unjust and cruel it _is_ , what else could he feel for the very thing responsible for Matt Casey's existence?)

As if he can hear Kelly's thoughts, Matt presses himself impossibly closer with another one of those _everything is perfect_ sighs, warm lips pressing tightly against Kelly's neck for a few seconds, and Kelly _loves_ him—loves him so much he might _burst_.

 _Perfect,_ Kelly thinks, _you're so perfect_. He's not aware he's said it aloud until Matt huffs a little in embarrassed amusement and answers softly:

"Perfection is relative, Kelly."

"Yeah?" Kelly asks—breathes against Matt's lips. Matt's _perfect lips_. "Well, you're _my_ perfection."

And then he _takes_ those perfect lips, all grateful mesmerized hunger, and Matt yields with no questions and no hesitation, sweet and warm and of course _perfect_ , just about melting against and around him—arms, mouth and whole body—clinging and welcoming like maybe he's suddenly wanted that forever too.


End file.
